Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7) (11 page)

“It’s one room in a big house. I don’t have to go into it.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and asked, “Why the strong reaction, Gabi?”

Her gaze met his, her forced smile faded. “It’s not important.”

Which translated meant
none of your business
.

Hunter took the water from her hand, set it aside. He had a year and a half to discover her secrets. Something told him it wouldn’t take that long.

Gabi swayed when she stood, reached out to steady herself on his arm, then promptly let go. “Thank you,” she said. “For not prying.”

“I want to,” he told her.

“I know.”

Ms. Fortier walked into the room, concern on her face. “Shall we move on?”

Gabi looked around the room, her eyes fell on him. “What are they asking for this house?”

There was shock in Ms. Fortier’s voice when she spoke. “Eighteen point four.”

Gabi’s head snapped toward the other woman. “Million?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t I say less than ten?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Hunter stepped between them. “Write up an offer.”

“Hunter!” Gabi called behind him.

“The house is perfect, you said yourself. I’ll bolt the cellar door. What do you think about the furnishings?” He shifted the conversation as if the purchase of the home was a foregone conclusion.

Gabi closed the space between them and tugged on his arm to get his attention. “You’re being impulsive.”

“I’m being practical. Buying furniture takes time.”

“I’m not talking about the furniture. I’m talking about the house. Eighteen point four million dollars is—”

“
My
standard of living,” he said, his gaze firm. “Just like
we
agreed upon.”

Gabi glanced between Ms. Fortier and Hunter. “Fine.”

“Wonderful,” Ms. Fortier said.

Gabi leaned close. “I was trying to save you some money.”

“If I wanted to save money, I wouldn’t have gotten married.”

“I want to pick out my own furniture!”

Hunter met her eyes . . . added a slow smile. “Fine.”

Chapter Ten

“It’s not possible to come and go without an audience,” Gabi voiced her complaint to Gwen over tea. “Escrow won’t close for two weeks,
if
everything goes as Hunter planned.” Gabi held the curtain back and found a media camera swinging her way. Many of the news vans had grown bored and moved on, but a few of the entertainment television and magazine reporters settled in for the long haul.

Gwen lifted her regal chin and sipped. “You can always move in with him now.”

She let the curtain drop, cutting out the images of reporters and cameras. “No. I want mutual ground. Moving in with him would give him the upper hand.”

“How do you see that?”

Gabi shrugged. “I just do. Moving into a home neither of us has occupied feels safer.” At least in her head.

Gwen’s easy smile waned. “You don’t feel safe with him?”

“I don’t know him. It’s that simple.”

She carefully set her tea aside. “Yet you married him. You have to know that none of us believe you did so willingly.”

“None of us?” Gabi knew the intervention was coming. She’d received daily calls from every Alliance team member and a few previous brides who were close personal friends of Sam and Blake.

“We can start with your brother and Meg.”

“I’m aware of how Val feels. He’s being the protective brother.”

“It’s more than that. Michael called Karen and asked if the rumors were true.”

Michael was this side of Hollywood royalty and a former “husband” that Alliance had arranged. He and Meg had been visiting Val’s resort when everything went to hell with Alonzo.

Gwen kept talking. “Then there is Neil and Rick. The two of them have had their knickers in a knot ever since you announced the contract.”

Gabi unfolded from the chair and stood. She hated the wobble in her legs and did her best to steady herself. “I don’t think I have to tell you that your husband is suspicious by nature. And Rick is probably following Judy’s lead on this. I know she and Meg have been talking.”

Gwen followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.

“You can call it suspicion, but I will call it deductive reasoning. Since you’ve lived in California you haven’t so much as gone to a nightclub or dinner without the company of a woman.”

Gabi opened her mouth to argue and Gwen stopped her. “If I’m not mistaken, the only charity event you attempted to attend alone was the one where pictures of you and Hunter emerged. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“I’ve not been a recluse.”

“Close. Dangerously close and you know it. Marriage, even the arranged kind with a prenuptial contract, doesn’t make sense, Gabriella. You have friends . . . people who can help if you’d trust us.”

Gabi couldn’t take the worry on Gwen’s face. Facing the sink, she proceeded to wash the cup in her hand. The emotional part of her wanted to confide in the other woman . . . but the smart and thinking part . . . that section of her decided now was not the time discuss a billionaire’s blackmail. Without looking at Gwen, she attempted to stretch the truth.

“He’s an attractive man.” Which wasn’t a lie. “While his proposal and financial offer were unorthodox, I must admit having a man at my mercy wasn’t an awful position to be in.”

“What are you saying? Hunter Blackwell is therapy?”

“Perhaps.” She rinsed the cup and set it on a towel to dry before turning. “I realized the path I set since Alonzo hasn’t been healthy. Hunter offered me an opportunity to break the cycle. He will be a safe companion for a few months, then we can go our separate ways and perhaps I’ll be able to find trust in men again.”

Gwen moved beside her, set her cup inside the sink. “I want to believe you.”

Gabi met the other woman’s gaze. “Then do.”

A knock on the door interrupted the moment.

A floral delivery van sat in the driveway, the media cameras were poised and ready.

Gabi opened the door to the face of a bewildered teen. “Mrs. Blackwell?”

That was going to take some time to get used to. “Yes.”

He handed her what looked like a dozen roses . . . velvet red. “Can you sign here?”

She did. “Let me get a tip.”

“It’s all taken care of. Have a nice day.”

“How lovely,” Gwen said behind her.

Gabi set the flowers next to those Hunter had sent her earlier in the week. Each bouquet was different . . . from tropical ensembles to lilies . . . the roses were a new direction.

The card held simple instructions.
Formal dress, seven tonight. H.B.

Gwen glanced over her shoulder. “The flowers are a nice touch.”

“For the cameras, I’m sure.”

Gwen gathered her purse and kissed Gabi’s cheek. “It appears you have a date with your husband.”

“Does that sound as strange to your ears as it does mine?”

Gwen laughed and placed a hand on her arm. “Do be careful.”

“I am. And please, if the masses begin to talk, remind everyone that I thought I loved a man who nearly killed me and I managed to survive. Hunter needed a wife and I’m filling a role. There are no emotions involved and no one is trying to end my life.”

“If you truly believe that, then do me a favor,” Gwen said. “Try and enjoy yourself.” Her hand reached up and patted the side of her face. “The lines of worry etch across your beautiful eyes, making it very difficult to believe you’re not scared out of your mind.”

Gabi brought both hands to her face, forced the muscles under her fingertips to relax. “The sooner your temporary husband knows your past, the easier it will be for him to set you at ease. Without the knowledge, he’s bound to stumble upon a panic button and leave you running.”

The image of the wine cellar was proof of that. But confiding in Hunter wasn’t an option.

She’d have to tiptoe through the minefield Alonzo had left in his wake. She’d done a good job for nearly a year and a half.

What was another eighteen months?

Charles had to double-park the limo outside of her Tarzana home. Gabi felt her pulse rise when the driver walked her to the car.

The media swarmed. “Mrs. Blackwell . . . a moment of your time?”

“Is it true you’re pregnant with Hunter Blackwell’s child?”

The questions kept coming. She answered none of them as she slid into the backseat.

Hunter wasn’t inside, which surprised her.

It didn’t take long for Charles to pull away, or long for the media to jump in their cars and follow.

“A year and a half of this,” she mumbled to herself.

On the other hand, the stretch limo wasn’t an awful way of traveling. It beat the sweaty palms and worry she was going to run into someone while driving Hunter’s James Bond car. She should probably tell him she wasn’t proficient behind the wheel.

She supposed the conversation would come up when he saw the tiny dent in the bumper. A dent she managed while avoiding a cameraman and hitting the neighbor’s garbage can. Which, again, wasn’t really her fault. If the paparazzo wasn’t there, it wouldn’t have happened.

Gabi found the button that lowered the glass between her and the driver. “Are they still following us?” she asked, unable to tell with the darkened windows in the back.

“
’Fraid so, Mrs. Blackwell.”

She looked out the back window and saw several sets of lights. “Are we picking Hunter up?”

Charles maneuvered the large car around the corner and onto the freeway. “He asked that I deliver you to his residence.”

She glanced at the fitted full-length gown complete with spaghetti straps that held the dress in place, and high heels that would be better off walking into a concert hall than a penthouse suite. Then again, she’d never seen Hunter’s home, the home she refused outright.

She sat back to enjoy the drive and realized she’d be alone with Hunter once they arrived on Melrose. And if escrow closed in two weeks as planned, they’d be alone together often.

Her nerves began a slow dance down her spine and to the tips of her fingers where she tapped them against the seat.

“Would you care for music, Mrs. Blackwell?”

“Yes—No, I . . .” This wasn’t a good sign. “Tell me, Charles, how is it
you
always seem to be available to be my driver?”

She met the man’s eyes through the rearview mirror. His pleasant, unthreatening smile helped.

“Mr. Blackwell requested my service. Said he wanted to know who was driving his wife around.”

“Oh . . .” she wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“He said that trusting your drivers was important to the both of you. I really appreciate your endorsement.”

She was about to tell him that she hadn’t gone out of her way to endorse him but realized that wouldn’t come out right. “Did he say anything else?”

“Just asked me to watch out for you.”

“Spy?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. More like, he knows you’re a beautiful woman and are married to one of the richest men in the States. You never know who might lurk, ya know?”

That didn’t sit well. Her face must have shown her concern. Charles instantly jumped to put her at ease. “Before I took this job, I trained in firearms and hand-to-hand self-defense. You’re safe with me, Mrs. Blackwell.”

His conviction made up for his size.

She really needed to get over her paranoia. Maybe it was time to see her counselor again. It had been six months and she’d not felt the need. But since she said “I do,” that need seeped back in.

Six blocks and four red lights from the complex Hunter lived in, Charles used his hands-free phone and called ahead. “Two minutes,” he said.

If Gabi was worried about the paparazzi getting too close, she needn’t have. Not only was Hunter standing at the curb when Charles pulled in, but beside him were two men twice his size, their hands loose at their sides while they all but dared the media to shove in too close.

Hunter opened the door and extended a hand.

He wore a tux. Crisp black, clean white shirt, and a tie that was a little askew. His hair was mussed a little in the front, as if he’d run a nervous hand in it prior to her arrival.

Gabi placed one leg out of the limo and felt his eyes find her bare skin under the slit of her dress. She placed her hand in his and let him lift her from the low car.

When she stood her full height, nearly meeting his gray eyes in her four-inch heels, she realized he hadn’t let her hand go. Instead, he lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

Flashes exploded around them.

Of course . . . the media was close enough to grab pictures, but not close enough to touch.

“You’re stunning,” he said under his breath.

With a tug, she removed her hand from his and placed it on his tie. Once it sat perfectly, she smiled.

“Mr. Blackwell . . . one picture.”

“Some of us have to make a living,” another voice called.

Gabi noticed Charles move behind them and waved his hands in the air as if to remind the media to keep a distance.

“I have kids to feed, Mrs. Blackwell . . . help a guy out?”

Hunter started to pull her away and she held firm. The need to feed the kids was probably a line, but Gabi didn’t think there would be any harm in smiling for a few shots.

Hunter nodded toward the building and Gabi pulled his hand closer.

A ghost of a smile met his lips and did a dangerous twist to her gut. Understanding of her desires had him moving close and placing a hand around her waist. That dangerous twist did a double flip. Instead of thinking about it, she turned toward the man with kids and a huge lens and smiled.

Hunter turned her toward the media on the other side of the bodyguards and tugged her closer still. She felt the full length of the man, from shoulder to hip, and for the first time in more months than she could remember, she didn’t shiver. Even though the night was cool and she hadn’t bothered placing a wrap over her shoulders, she was warm.

His lips moved close to her ear. “I hear the hungry kid thing once a week.”

“Kids get hungry every day.”

He laughed, putting her at ease, and walked her out of the media lights.

One of the bodyguards stayed in the lobby, while the other rode up the elevator with them.

“Do you mind telling me what we’re doing tonight? Seems to me playing dress-up for an evening at home is a little overkill.” Gabi kept her eyes on the double doors, counting the floors as the elevator made a rapid climb to the top.